If we were lost,
Where would found be?
If you weren't here,
What space would exist?
If a void is measurable in it's vast,
Then perhaps time could extend us this kiss
If we woke up from this dream without memory,
Would my eyes latch to yours, the still the same?
Would it be years?
Would it be tears that guide us?
Or,
Would our hearts still be as one ingrained?

this poem isn't about you
I don't know how I feel
I'd rather write about the Moon
or something else that's real

or how the rising tide can be
a metaphor for change
or something deep
beneath the sea
mysterious and strange

but will I turn away from you
in silence and control
or write the shining sky into
a mirror for your soul?

with every single word I write
the lie becomes less true
to shout into the night
"This poem isn't about you!"

I am so afraid to fall
that I do not let myself fly

I say to myself
"I can't do it"
but I never really tried

too far up
too close to the Sun
I cling to the Earth
trembling

how much courage
will it take
for me to learn
to trust my wings?